“The fertility specialist thinks it’s Ellie’s uterus. The sperm and egg are always good, it’s the embryo just never sticks.” He runs his hand over his hair, possibly attempting to calm it back down. “They told us we’re wasting our money if we continue IVF.” Josh turns his head with the last remark but I can hear the hitch in his voice.
My eyes close on a slow exhale. I feel so bad for them both.
When Ellie first told me they were having trouble getting pregnant, I used to joke that she didn’t need a baby because she was already mothering me. Her twin sister, a full grown woman with no direction in life.
I’ve kind of got my shit together now, but I’m still firm on the whole no marriage and family thing. Ellie and I have very different views on that. She wants a family to replace the one we lost, and I don’t want a family for the very same reason.
Another gulp of wine to give me courage and then I reach in the grocery bag for the ice cream. I grab a spoon from the drawer before I leave Josh standing in the kitchen to join Ellie on the deck. Nothing prepares me for the sight of Ellie’s red, puffy eyes. I’m about to offer her the ice cream when I notice an empty tumbler on the table beside her.
“Hey, sisss.” Ellie’s hand reaches for my arm to pull me down beside her on the lounge chair, but the weight of her hand on my arm causes the spoon to fall to the floor with a clatter. Once we’re eye level, I notice her eyes are glassy from crying, but she also appears to be drunk.
“Hey, love. I brought your favorite, but it looks like you’re trying something new tonight.”
“I had some of Josh’s scotch.” Her mouth moves in a circle, trying to wrap itself around the word scotch.
She takes the pint from me. I move to retrieve the dropped spoon, but Ellie has already removed the lid and inserted a long finger right into the untouched surface. With alcohol not being good for women trying to conceive, Ellie hasn’t drunk in years. Typically, ice cream is her indulgence of choice, drowning her disappointment in a pint of B&J’s. This is not our usual routine.
We sit silently, Ellie eating ice cream, finally accepting the spoon I hold out to her, while I drink my wine. Ellie starts laughing. She sounds manic and it saddens and scares me a little.
“Isn’t it ironic? We spend our teens and twenties taking birth control and worrying about getting pregnant, only to find out later that we can’t even get pregnant.”
Her wild hand gestures send a spoonful of ice cream flying, the glop lands on the wood deck then slowly sinks between the planks.
She hiccups, tears escape her eyes and suddenly I feel as helpless as Josh probably feels.
I don’t want Ellie to be unhappy, but it is moments like these, where she falls apart a little and I try to hold her up, that I feel the closest to her—this time feels different, though, and I’m worried. Ellie’s always been the twin that has life figured out. She knew she wanted to be a middle school math teacher when shewasin middle school. And I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I love my job now, but I don’t know if it’s what I want to do forever. She knew Josh was the man for her, married him, her college sweetheart, and they are the cutest couple ever. And me, I dated a lot of guys in high school and college, but none of them were men I’d want to marry.
I’m mid-sip when Ellie stops shoveling in the ice cream. She sets the pint down on the table, her eyes wide with alarm, as her free hand lifts to cover her mouth.
She barely makes out an ‘oh, god’ before she’s up and stumbling toward the hydrangea bushes where a moment later, scotch and ice cream vomit rains all over the unsuspecting plants.
* * *
With Ellie snoring softly in the comfort of her bed, I exit her bedroom, and pull the door shut behind me. Josh helped me get her downstairs, the joys of a 1920s bungalow being that the bedrooms are in the basement, and I helped her into bed, wiping off some of the vomit still clinging to her hair. It didn’t take long for her to pass out and I just sat with her for a long while thinking of life and where we were at.
It’s moments like these that the absence of our parents feels the greatest.
On my way back upstairs, I notice a light on in the last room on the left. The would-be nursery. When I push the door open the rest of the way, I see that the star projector lamp that Ellie bought a few years ago is on. It sits on an empty bookcase, next to the gray upholstered glider. Ellie is a planner through and through. Even though she’s never had a positive pregnancy test, as soon as she and Josh started trying, she started planning the nursery. I had just started working with Sue, and I’ve always been the more creative one, so Ellie was excited to get my opinion. We talked about décor, what color to paint the walls, which was dependent on if they would want to find out the sex of the baby or not. The color swatches we picked out are still taped to the wall by the window. They even bought a crib. It’s still in its box, leaned up against the far wall.
Even with every month that didn’t produce a positive test, we continued on measuring and planning. I can’t remember exactly when Ellie stopped working on it. It now sits empty and unfinished. A visual reminder of her and Josh’s inability to conceive.
I switch the lamp off and close the door behind me.
Heading back upstairs, I find Josh in the kitchen sitting at the dining table peeling the label off his beer. I watch him from the doorway for a moment, realizing how much he’s hurting, too.
“This isn’t good, Josh. I’ve never seen Ellie like that.” Josh looks at me with sadness in his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so defeated before.
“She’s been so stressed out with all this baby stuff. Brooke, I don’t even know what to do anymore to help her.” He takes a swig of beer.
I pick up my wine glass off the counter and take a sip, only to dump the remnants in the sink a second later. I can’t even stomach it right now. I hoped this time would have been different for them, or at least the same, where Ellie smiles optimistically and tells me it’s going to happen the next time. But, it is way worse than I could have thought. What little my sister was coherent enough to tell me is her body is unexplainably not equipped to carry a child.
As a former houseguest, Ellie has me trained, so I rinse my glass and put it in the dishwasher.
“So, no more IVF?” I ask Josh, already knowing the answer.
“That’s what they recommended. That’s the medical advice.” Josh looks at me with all sincerity, “Brooke, I don’t want Ellie going through all she’s been going through—I want us to have kids but this is too much on both of us.”
“What about adoption?”
